


Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte

by IHidMyFaceFromYouNoMore



Category: Eroica Yori Ai o Komete | From Eroica with Love
Genre: (do Not fact check me on this terminology lol), (i have been to a total of 2 hockey games in my life), Established Relationship, Grossly Casual Use of Hockey Terminology, Hockey, Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!, M/M, The Tenderest Handholding, Vacation, Why Is Klaus A Hockey Fan? Why Did I Decide This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:21:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22119310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IHidMyFaceFromYouNoMore/pseuds/IHidMyFaceFromYouNoMore
Summary: Dorian and Klaus are on vacation in the US and there's a hockey game for them to watch. But something goes wrong before it can go right.
Relationships: Klaus von dem Eberbach & Dorian Red Gloria, Klaus von dem Eberbach/Dorian Red Gloria
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte

During Klaus and Dorian’s trip through the US east coast, the Major had expressed a wish to go see his team play a game at the Boston hockey rink. Germany was qualifying for the world cup, playing against the home team, so tensions were high. Despite Dorian’s almost complete disinterest in sports(he did enjoy a casual game of polo or even cricket, but the line was drawn there), he was excited.  Hockey, as he had heard from Klaus, was the most dynamic contact sport of all, even more so than soccer. The Major had waxed lyrical about how strategic the game was, and his own way of showing passion for things always went straight to Dorian’s heart. He couldn’t deny him the pleasure of seeing a bit of the motherland while away on vacation. 

Despite the Major’s usual propensity for yelling at the top of his lungs at people, he was rather quiet throughout the game. He was contemplating the rink and enjoying the game in his own way. Dorian found this too endearing for words. Klaus would once in a while say something unrelated or ask Dorian something, but the Earl enjoyed their quiet too. Even if they were surrounded by twelve thousand pent-up fans screaming their hearts out whenever the puck even came close to a hockey stick. 

Dorian had just been to the concessions and placed a plastic cup of beer in Klaus’ vicinity. “This is what they had. I got a ‘pretzel’, too.” He sat down next to the Major again with his own beer and warm pastry. “What did I miss?” 

“Thank you.” Klaus had a sip and grimaced. “Terrible. Americans wouldn’t know a good beer if it stared them in the face.” 

“Far from a Radeberger pilsner, huh? I’d give a pretty penny for a Guinness right about now too.”  Dorian tried the pretzel. He wasn’t much for fast food, but in small dosages it was enjoyable. 

“Yep. It tastes like they dilute their beer with washing-up water.” Despite Klaus’ harsh criticism, he kept drinking. Dorian agreed by making a disgruntled noise. 

Klaus watched the puck fly over the palisades. On the screen, Dorian watched the fan that caught it, who began dancing a little jig of celebration. The Major then remembered the original question Dorian had for him;  “Oh, and there was power play for us because a Yank tried to board Schneider.” 

“Oh, good! You want some of this?” Dorian presented the pretzel to Klaus. He looked away from the rink long enough to receive it and take a cautious bite, then give it back. “God, the judges need seeing-eye dogs if they’re gonna act this blind to misconduct. And this isn’t a terrible _brezel_.” Klaus leaned over to let Dorian feed him some more of it. 

More silent moments were enjoyed. Dorian didn’t even realize Klaus was staring a bit at him until the Major spoke again. 

“Are you wearing lip gloss?” 

“It’s like a balm. It's new. It's really good.” 

“It’s tinted.” 

“So? Don't you like my lips to be inviting? It makes them very soft.” 

Klaus made an ambiguous noise, neither approval nor disapproval. 

“I’ve really been feeling more femme these days, I thought I'd give my look that little something extra.” Dorian gestured vaguely what that ‘something extra’ was. 

“I noticed.” Klaus neither liked Dorian more feminine nor did he like him less when looking like that. Dorian was definitely presenting a more delicate side that day, with a stylish purple beret on his head, elegant matching gloves, and likewise colorful accessorizing. Klaus told himself he couldn’t care less what Dorian showed up looking like anymore. It wasn’t what was important. Dorian was, however, looking like this in a stadium full of twelve thousand American hockey fans. You could practically smell the testosterone all around them. Even the women were decked out in club merchandize and warpaint.  Dorian looked dressed for sitting front row at a fashion show. Most other days, he looked runway-ready. 

They watched quietly for several minutes, sharing their pretzel nearly evenly. Dorian drifted a bit from the rink, instead looking at the surroundings, the commentators’ booth, the widescreen — 

“Klaus.” 

“Hm —?” 

“The screen.” 

“What are they showing now?” 

“Look.” 

It had been something of a miracle to get the Major to go all the way to the US voluntarily. His vehement hatred of the American dream, of the loutish Yanks, of their beer, all of that should have kept him from ever stepping foot there again if it hadn’t been for Dorian’s sake. But of all the things Klaus hated about American culture, the conduct at sports games could really get his piss boiling. The platitudinized cheerleading, the fan-displays, the sports commentators — 

And the fucking Kiss Cams. Only Americans could have invented such an unsettling cultural experience.  Reflected in that big screen, Klaus saw a grumpy-looking man staring up at something. The man was sitting next to Dorian. The man was himself. But in that gross stadium lighting, the Major almost didn’t identify himself until he recognized that that was Dorian beside him. 

Dorian looked equally caught off guard in that low-res replica of himself. For all the Major’s previous misconceptions about Dorian being comfortable with any kind of attention, this proved to be a low moment for the Earl. The pink heart-border around their image was the most jarring piece of that experience. The crowd was catching on to the fact that the two were surprised by the turn of events, and therefore the whistling and a mantra of “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” only got louder the longer the seconds dragged on. 

They were frozen, completely unprepared for this. Without turning much, Dorian looked at Klaus, concerned. Neither wanted this. The game would have to move on eventually. The fans soon realized it was going nowhere and they booed their disapproval. The screen eventually switched to a beer commercial before the booing died down. 

The game moved on as well. Dorian didn’t know why, but he didn’t want to look directly at the Major. Klaus had been quiet before all that, but he somehow got quieter for the rest of the game. 

Germany lost that day. The Yanks took the winning goal, effectively barring their opponents from qualifying for the finals. The stadium thinned out as people walked their families and loved ones to their pickups, leaving only a mass of plastic cups on the plastic seats of the arena. 

Klaus shut the car door, eliminating the din of the people outside. He had his hand on the gear stick, but he wasn’t moving it into position. He looked at Dorian; the Earl finally saw the chastened look on his Major. They sat like that for a bit. The parking lot got less and less crowded. 

Dorian laid his purple-gloved hand over Klaus’ on that gearstick. He was going to say something, though it wasn’t that important, but the Major leaned across to him. Dorian felt gratified again, and so he met Klaus halfway in a kiss. They were alone now. 

The Major pulled away just enough to say exactly what was on his mind. “Your lips taste like _schwarzwälder Kirschtorte_.” 

“I know, right? I told you it was good.” 

**Author's Note:**

> [smokes pipe and speaks in Auteur™ voice:]
> 
> Is the Kiss Cam scene a metaphor for the extreme length of unsatisfactory queer baiting the original series perpetrated? Well well well well well


End file.
